


bare boned and crazy for you

by Bookish_Moose



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_Moose/pseuds/Bookish_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke returns from Weisshaupt.  Varric's done some thinking while she's away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bare boned and crazy for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jack_the_giantkiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_the_giantkiller/gifts).



Although she’s been at Skyhold since just after dawn, Hawke doesn’t truly relax until, fed, watered and freshly bathed, she sinks onto the mattress in Varric’s tower bedroom. 

The soft bed, the warm fire and the persistent scratch of Varric’s quill feel right in a way nothing else has for far too long. It’s silly, but there’s a cadence to the way he writes that she thinks she could recognize anywhere. She can recognize it in the flow of his words, when he lets her read them, but it’s more than that. It’s the way he stops to reason through a turn of phrase, the way he taps the nib against his finger while he thinks. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t find the ink stain it left there charming. Can’t remember when wood polish and leather and paper began to smell like home, but they have. 

The quiet between them is easy, comfortable. She’s missed this, missed the casual intimacy that has come from years as more than friends, more than lovers. Even after all this time, Hawke’s never been sure what to call it. Words are more Varric’s bag than hers, but even he hasn’t put a name to it. 

Their friends think them lovers, surely, but it’s not like that. There was a time when Hawke wondered at that, but it’s become comfortable after so much time. They flirt and tease, but never more than that and Hawke’s given up hoping for more than Varric’s willing to give. Besides, it isn’t as though their friendship isn’t a fulfilling one, she thinks. It’s the most fulfilling relationship she’s ever had, truth be told, and if sex isn’t part of it, she’s long since found that she doesn’t mind.

Not that it stops the sweet ache from forming low in her belly when he catches her off guard. He’s careful, though, not to push too far or to tease beyond his ability to fulfill, and she’s thankful for that. It’s a hard-won balance that they’ve reached, but steady, solid, and unspoken

Opening her eyes, she stretches and rolls onto her stomach. Her head is at the wrong end of the bed for sleeping but the right end to watch him work at the small table in the corner. 

She does watch for a while, her head pillowed on her arm. He hasn’t told her what he’s working on yet and that alone has piqued her curiosity. It isn’t that she begrudges him his privacy; she’s known him long enough to know there’s a piece of him in every first draft he passes her way. It’s just that, lately, there seem to be so many more pieces to Varric than she doesn’t know. Perhaps this is one he isn’t ready to let her see just yet. 

He looks up from his work then, catches her eye and gives her that little half smile that never fails to make her heart flip behind her ribs. 

“Sleepy?”

Hawke shakes her head. “I’m offended by the very suggestion, Varric. Though maybe I should be offended by the fact that I’ve come all this way to see you and you’re doing paperwork. Kirkwall is much closer to Weisshaupt than Skyhold is.”

She bites her lower lip, waiting to see if he’ll take her bait. His eyes narrow, smile growing wider, and she knows she has him. She’s missed this game they play. She’s missed him, truth be told. 

“You know, I’m not actually sure that’s true,” he says, capping his ink bottle and setting it carefully on the curling edge of his paper. His movements are deliberate and Hawke can’t help watching the way his fingers move, sure and certain. 

“Of course it is. I never lie.”

He laughs at that, a soft, exasperated laugh somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “‘Course not.”

The mattress sags as he sits next to her. She can feel him, warm and sturdy, where their bodies touch at her hip. 

“Are you even sure they’ll let you back into Kirkwall?” 

“They’ll have to if they want the armor back.”

He lays a hand at the small of her back and presses. The knotted muscles beneath her skin tighten in protest and she groans. Her heart beats faster as his fingers spread wider, tracing the taut flesh on either side of her spine.

“Shit, Hawke, what have you been doing?”

“The usual,” she quips. “Riding horses, climbing mountains, sleeping on the ground for weeks on end. I-oh!”

She gasps as he hits a tender spot.

“There?”

She nods and he circles the spot with his thumb, pressing gently until the tough bundle begins to give way. The ache runs deep: up her back, beneath the sharp plane of her shoulder blade and he chases it with his fingers as easily as if he could see the path drawn on her back. Varric shifts next to her, angling himself so that he has better leverage, and wraps his hand around the side of Hawke’s ribcage. 

His touch is too light and she jumps, letting out a peal of laughter. “That tickles.”

Adjusting his fingers, Varric presses more firmly. “Better?”

She nods. The tips of his fingers brush the side of her breast when she moves and her breath catches. An accident, surely, but he lets them linger there as his thumb works at the space between two ribs. She holds still, trying not to seem too eager nor to dislodge him, but the effort makes her tense. Varric leans forward until his mouth is next to her ear and whispers, “Relax, Hawke.”

It is all she can do to contain the moan that rises within her. 

If she didn’t know better, if it weren’t Varric moulding her like putty in his hands, she would think he was teasing her. But he can’t be, not now, not after all this time. If he knows what he’s doing, he’s moved far past their carefully-set boundaries. He wouldn’t dare, so she tries to push the thought away and her arousal along with it. She sighs, breathes deep and steady, loses herself in the feel of his hands on her back. 

Using his knuckles, his fingers, the heel of his hand, even his elbow once, Varric makes quick work of the rest of Hawke’s stiff muscles. While he works, she calms herself and the throb that has taken up in her stomach dulls a bit. 

His hands slow now and Hawke expects him to pull away, but he doesn’t. Instead, they skim softly over her back. It’s a comforting sensation, warm and tender, and she stretches beneath him like a lazy cat. Her breath is even and shallow and, with her eyes closed like this, her mind woozy and content. 

The mattress rises next to her. Hawke shifts her weight, readying herself to sit up, but instead find’s Varric’s weight settling high on her thighs as he straddles them. This is normal, she tells her heart, suddenly pounding in anticipation, this is perfectly reasonable. He needs leverage is all because she’s done such a number on her back. This doesn’t mean anything.

His hands keep their rhythm, up her back, over her shoulders, down her sides. Back, shoulder sides. If they dip a bit lower on her hips now, it’s only an accident, she tells herself, but they do it again, and then the heel of his hand pushes against the swell of her ass and she feels the air rush from her lungs. 

This is happening, she realizes, actually happening and it feels a thousand times better than she ever imagined. His touch is perfect, better than she could have dreamed, and she sinks into the sensation. 

Varric shifts over her as he moves further down her body, kneading the flesh as he goes: ass, thighs, calves each in turn. Hawke flushes as she realizes she hasn’t put trousers on after her bath. There’s little modestly between them after all this time, so she hadn’t seen a need, but now his fingers are on her. Gooseflesh prickles her skin, but Varric rubs it away as he works back up her legs. Ankles to calves, over her bony knees. 

When he reaches higher, he gets bold, tracing her inner thighs rather than outer. He takes his time, here, venturing so far but no further, as though asking permission. Throwing the last remnants of her caution and better senes to the wind, Hawke spreads her legs further apart to make room. Even facing away from him, even with her eyes closed, she can hear him smile and she sighs.

“Roll over.” His voice is low, husky, and Hawke shivers as she complies. 

The light in the room makes her blink when she finally opens her eyes. Varric’s elbow settles gently on her pubic bone, forearm stretched up her torso. He’s watching her and Hawke thinks it might be the most intimate thing she’s ever experienced. She’s bare to him, vulnerable in a way Hawke isn’t sure she’s felt with anyone before. Softly, his thumb strokes just below her breast. 

“Varric,” she sighs, as though his name is every question she wants to ask. 

He looks away and shrugs. “I did some re-evaluating while you were gone.”

“Clearly.” She smiles and lays a hand on his thigh. “After all this time?”

His fingers knot it the thin fabric of her tunic. “Better late than never.”

He leans forward then and kisses her. It’s a gentle kiss, closed-lipped and warm, and Hawke sighs into it. She threads her free hand into his hair and pulls him closer. 

They’ve kissed before, but Hawke’s never let herself notice the little things. The weight of his chest on hers, the scratch of his day old stubble against her cheek. She notices them now, revels in them. So lost is she in the feel of his lips that the touch of his hand on her bare side takes her by surprise. He has her shirt hiked up around her ribs, fingers circling her breast in an ever tightening path. His thumb brushes her nipple and she arches beneath him.

Pulling back, she tugs her shirt over her head and tosses it onto the floor. Varric does the same with his, angling himself better across Hawke’s body. The weight of him is delicious and it’s all she can do to keep her hips still. When he kisses her again, she gives up, pushing her hips restlessly against him. Height difference be damned, he fits like this, she thinks, fits like he was made to be here. 

Her fingers skim up his back, testing the hard planes of muscle just beneath the skin, and then along his chest, the wiry hair there tickling her palm. The shapes of him aren’t new to her, but the freedom to touch them for the sake of touching, rather than practicality, is intoxicating. 

She wants more of him, needs it now that she’s had a taste, and so she slides her tongue over the smooth skin on the inside of his upper lip, sucking gently. He opens his mouth in response, tongue slick when it meets hers, just the tip at first but then the length of it sliding against her own. Wrapping both hands around the base of his skull, Hawke pulls him closer. 

Varric’s breath puffs shakily against her cheek and he grinds the hard bulge of his cock against her hip. He’s not quite centered between her legs and Hawke nudges at him with her knee. Obligingly, he shifts ever so slightly and grinds again, this time into the aching need between her thighs. The pressure is dizzying. She needs more of it, more of him, and so she bends her knee, draping it up and over Varric’s hips. The angle is good-better than before, but not nearly enough to satisfy and she huffs in frustration. 

“Need something?” 

“Yes.”

Varric smirks. “Patience.”

“Think I’ve waited on you long enough,” she says pointedly, raising an eyebrow. 

Shaking his head, Varric nuzzles into the crook of her neck and plants a sucking, open-mouthed kiss just below her ear that has her squirming. He’s playing dirty, and normally Hawke would give it back in kind, but she decides to let him play, leaning back into the mattress. 

He trails his way down her neck, leaving Hawke panting by the time he latches his teeth softly on her collar bone. Heat radiates from her skin and she knows her chest must be flushed red. Her skin glistens with a sheen of moisture and when he scoots down the bed and teases her legs apart, she is overwrought. 

Catching her eye, Varric lays a hand flat between the wings of her hips. Her stomach muscles tense with anticipation as he traces the length of her slit with his thumb. The digit slips against her and he moans a little, pressing softly until it slips between the slickened folds. 

“Shit, Hawke.”

He slickens both thumbs and glides them up the juncture where her legs meet her torso. Hawke spreads her knees, giving him more space. Her clit throbs, aches for him to touch her, but he doesn’t, not yet. Instead, he traces a steady rhythm over her lips, worrying the soft skin of her inner thigh between his teeth. She gasps at the sharpness of his bite and he licks the sting away. Pulling the soft, swollen flesh of her cunt upwards, with one hand, he finds her clit and presses firmly against it. He brushes the flat of his tongue against the seam of her and Hawke’s breath hitches. 

Maker, she’s always thought he would be good at this, but the reality of it has her gasping beneath him. 

Rolling his thumb over her clit, Varric licks up the sides of her cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue into her. The barely-there touch is maddening and Hawke wraps her leg around his shoulders, pulling him closer into her. 

He laughs, the vibration buzzing against her, and shakes his head. Nevertheless, he takes heed and replaces his thumb on her clit with his mouth. He doesn’t put his tongue to her yet, much as she wants him to, but instead sucks gently. The warm, slick pressure makes her stomach clench, drags the tangle of desire deeper in her belly, tugs at her spine. 

Slowly, Hawke becomes aware of an emptiness within her, the walls of her cunt clench vainly without finding purchase and she scrabbles for Varric’s hand. She grabs it between sweaty fingers and nudges him towards her opening. Taking the hint, he slides a thick finger into her, knuckle deep and Hawke groans, squeezing around him. He pulls his finger out, then slides in again and she shifts her hip restlessly. It’s good, but not quite there, not quite enough. Reaching out for his shoulder she takes hold of it and curls her fingers into the hard muscle. He mimics the motion inside of her and she cannot help her head dropping back onto the mattress.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “oh Varric.”

He hums against her, works his finger faster inside of her and her thighs begin to tremble. Her spine tingles near the base, the beginnings of an orgasm playing over her nerves, just out of grasp. Groaning in frustration, she rolls her hips, drives her fingers into his hair and grinds desperately against his mouth. 

Maker, she is so close, nearly there, nearly enough. When the muscles of her stomach begin to shake, taut like a bowstring, Varric swirls his tongue wetly around her clit and she snaps. Arching up off the bed, she gasps, riding the waves of sensation.

Finally, her limbs relax, falling limp and boneless around Varric. He’s watching her in that way he does sometimes, as though he’s storing the moment away for later, and he strokes her inner thighs softly. 

“This had better not end up in a book somewhere,” she says with a laugh. 

Varric shakes his head. “I’m not in a sharing mood.”

Hawke smiles, runs her hands through his hair. It hangs loose around his face, the way it does sometimes after a fight, and she winds it around her fingers. 

“Oh, Varric,” she sighs. 

He lays back on the pillows, still watching her with that look in his eyes. “Come here.”

She does, sliding into the crook of his arm and pressing a kiss to the rough hair that covers his chest. Trailing a hand through the coarseness, she tweaks a nipple, circles his navel. His breathing changes, slow and deep, and she’s overcome by a need to see him as undone as he’s made her. The laces of his cloth trousers are stretched tight over his cock. She moves to loosen them, scratching her fingertips over the taut fabric first, and he hisses. 

His cock springs free and the sight of it, thick and heavy and straining, makes Hawke’s stomach clench. She fists it a few times, twisting her hand around his girth. Varric’s eyes are lidded, dark and half-closed as he thrusts into her loose grip. 

Groaning, he rolls Hawke onto her side and hooks a hand behind her knee, draping it over his hips. She is soft and swollen and wet from her climax and he slides into her easily. Sighing at the fullness of him, Hawke wraps her arm around his neck and kisses him. He tastes tart, tastes of her and she sweeps her tongue through his mouth. His thrusts are slow and deep, stretching her as he moves, and she closes her eyes, letting the sensation roll through her. 

His hand strokes along the curve of her waist as his cock strokes within her and she loses herself in their rhythm. They are quiet this time, nothing more than shuddering breaths and soft gasps passing between them. Even as Hawke feels herself tightening around him, Varric does not speed his pace, long and deep and even. Her second orgasm is lazy, washing over her in a great wave. Varric follows suit with a groan, hips twitching sharply. 

He rolls onto his back, carrying Hawke with him and whistles low. “I missed you, Hawke. I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”


End file.
